When I was thirteen, I bought a small, blue, canvas-bound book whose title, scrawled in loopy silver script, read, "The Interpretation of Dreams." I purchased it because every morning, I awoke with vivid memories of three, sometimes four, dreams. About half of them were nightmares, but they didn't trouble me as much as what I … Continue reading Three Dreams and A Dragon
Ever since Donald Trump won the election, I am a stranger in a strange land. For our next leader, my country chose a man who personifies rape culture. My PTSD from when I was sexually assaulted is already severe because of him. Listening to him for the next four years and knowing he has power … Continue reading Writing Through It
I had to work for my miracle, sweat for it, white-knuckle it, but I didn't mind; I never expected a miracle to be easy. No one promised me a rose garden. I woke up from a nap today needing to use the bathroom, so I hit the button that pages my sister and planned how … Continue reading White-Knuckle Miracle
I hate crying - it's an uncontrollable language of pain, and I lack enough control as it is - but I was crying tonight. I've heard that no single emotion is inherently good or bad. We should acknowledge them all, pick each up like a leaf from a stream, think, "It's just sadness," then put … Continue reading Leaves in My River, Stars in My Sky
Warning: Excessive Marvel references ahead. This is not the story I wanted to write today. I planned on sharing something emotional and joyful. It was going to be a bigger piece, and I looked forward to a long stretch of appointment-free hours to get it done. However, ALS doesn't care about plans. Like Loki in … Continue reading Welcome to the Helicarrier
Lately, I've been worrying a lot about my identity. So much is changing at what feels like breakneck speed. My body in particular is alien to me. I swing between thinking I am an ALS research guinea pig, a robot incorporating new mechanisms to extend the life of what is clearly a junker, or, most … Continue reading Far From FDR
Seeing my mom reminds me I am changing, though slowly relative to most other people with ALS. When she visits, there is always a lot for her to learn: the new way to help me dress, which silverware I can handle, what medicine I take at night. The list goes on. My sister and husband … Continue reading A Seat at the Table
Since my diagnosis, I have come up with elaborate methods for convincing myself I am OK with losing the chance to be a mother. I have a list of why kids would destroy my marriage and sense of self. I avoid places where children flock and families are happy (Salt & Straw Ice Cream Shop … Continue reading Deeper Than Bone
I have a big mouth. I wasn't always this way. Somewhere along the line, though, I learned to talk back, something I'm especially good at when sticking up for loved ones. Even though I'm in a wheelchair and my voice is fading, I just had to say something when a man catcalled my sister Laura … Continue reading Loud Mouth
How I Live Now: Life With ALS 